


Bring the Fight to Them

by leftofrevolution



Series: Shall Stand Alone [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:37:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftofrevolution/pseuds/leftofrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrawn was not due to return to his fleet in the Unknown Regions for five days. That was just enough downtime that Maul felt uneasy sitting around doing nothing, and if he questioned his own decision to make use of that time by visiting Manda'yaim, he had already set the course and engaged the hyperdrive by then, so there was really nothing to be done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring the Fight to Them

Thrawn was not due to return to his fleet in the Unknown Regions for five days. That was just enough downtime that Maul felt uneasy sitting around doing nothing, and if he questioned his own decision to make use of that time by visiting Manda'yaim, he had already set the course and engaged the hyperdrive by then, so there was really nothing to be done. Combined with the fact that he had not slept well in months and found traveling through hyperspace the easiest place to relax, he was unconscious for all but the last hour of the trip, so there was not much time for second-guessing.

Not that he bothered much with that, either; pointless nostalgia, perhaps, this trip, but Manda'yaim was the closest thing he’d ever had to a home. Dathomir was where he had been born, but his only memories of it were scattered over a year, a hopeless struggle that ended with the planet's razing by Sidious. Nothing but ashes there now. Mustafar was where he had lived and trained in his youth, but his life there had been constant pain, obviously so in retrospect, and it had been nothing but ashes to begin with. Manda'yaim, however… Manda'yaim still thrived, and welcomed him, albeit warily.

His brother's remains were buried there, though he had never visited them, and he never would.

\--*--

He had ceded his leadership of Death Watch well over a decade ago, but while Kryze had taken that opportunity to seize the title of Mand’alor, their enmity had been impersonal enough—and, more to the point, he had enough adherents still amongst the Mando’ade—that she for the most part just ignored his existence.

Not so now, of course, because that would have been too convenient; she was waiting at the landing pad when his ship touched down. She nodded to him as he walked down the boarding ramp, her helmet under one arm. “ _Su cuy’gar_ , Maul,” she greeted him, which from her was almost friendly. Friendlier was the fact that the only person she had with her was a scribe. No assassination attempts today, and probably not tomorrow; she had not actually put forth serious effort to kill him in years.

“ _Lek, ni su'cuyi_ ,” he replied, half out of habit—he had not gone out of his way to learn Mando’a, but fifteen years of living on Manda'yaim combined with his natural ear for languages had made him fluent whether he wanted to be or not—before remembering to sneer at her. “Why are you here, Kryze?”

She just raised an eyebrow at him. “You have been gone three months.”

“Which is none of your concern,” Maul countered, brushing past her to walk further into the docking bay.

Regrettably, Kryze seemed undeterred, turning and easily keeping pace with him as he strode away. “Everything that happens on Manda'yaim is my concern.”

“I’ll be off it again soon enough,” Maul said coolly, not slowing as he headed for the shuttle bay that took travelers to Sundari’s military district.

Whatever Kryze had planned to say next was cut off by the smiling approach of Streng exiting that same shuttle bay; Streng did not have Kryze’s direct access to government databanks, but he still managed to find out everything before he should have anyway. “Lord Maul! You should have told us you would be returning to us today. We would have sent you a proper welcoming party.”

 _That_ managed to get Kryze’s hackles up, in a way that Maul himself rarely managed; Maul was not Mando’ad, but for one of them to greet an outsider before the Mand’alor herself was almost unforgiveable. Still, it was the scribe who said, lowly, “Your Mand’alor is present, _besom_.”

Streng startled, almost comically; it was entirely for show, but was enough for Kryze to be magnanimous when Streng saluted and said, “ _N’eparavu takisit_ , Mand’alor!”

“ _Wer’cuy_ ,” said Kryze, brushing the apology aside. However, whatever she had wanted to discuss with Maul was obviously stifled by Streng’s presence; she nodded stiffly at Maul, turning as to obviously exclude Streng. “You will join me for _or’ilor_. Thirteen hundred.”

It was not quite a command. She had never been his master, and they both knew she never would be. Still, the tone was hard enough for Maul to nearly refuse her as a matter of course, but he had spoken true; he would be gone soon enough. No reason to alienate her, here at the last.

So in the end, he nodded back, just as stiffly if not more so, and he and Streng watched as Kryze made her exit towards her own personal ship that would take her back to the Royal Palace.

It was not until Kryze and her scribe were well out of hearing range that Streng turned back to him with a grin, tucking his fingers into his belt as he visibly relaxed. “ _Olarom, alor!_ You have been gone a long time, to take none of us with you. _Me'vaar ti gar?_ ”

“Something unexpected has happened,” Maul replied, and starting heading again towards the shuttle bay, Streng just a step behind him. “And I will not be on planet long. Is your battalion present?”

“Mostly. Urvok and Aderd’s squads are off doing _ver’verd_ work, but Urvok’s should be back by this evening, and Aderd’s isn’t running dark if we need them on the comm.”

They stopped talking as they entered the shuttle bay. More a habit of secrecy than an attempt at actual secrecy, but Mando’ade did not discuss personal matters in public, so Streng saw nothing unusual in complete silence throughout the flight, their arrival at the military district, and the half a kilometer walk to the compound that housed Streng’s battalion. It was probably more a habit of courtesy, however, that stayed Streng’s tongue until he had Maul seated on the balcony overlooking the compound and had passed a glass of water into Maul’s hand. “So…”

Maul drank deeply from the glass before he bothered to reply, Streng waiting patiently on his left. He suddenly felt self-conscious, which was why his words came out even more abrupt than usual as he said, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Mando’ade, as a rule, did not bother with meaningless pleasantries, which Maul generally appreciated but no more so than now, when it kept the obvious commentary on his only recent arrival from the air. Instead, Streng looked down at him, considering. “For how long?”

“Years. Possibly longer.”

At that, Streng blinked, then he grinned again, looking pleased in a way that Maul was not sure how to interpret. “I will call my battalion together, _alor_. Evening _skraan’ikase_ , to welcome Urvok’s return to Manda'yaim and you from your meeting with Kryze. This is not something for my ears alone.”

“Unnecessary,” Maul muttered into his glass; he had never been comfortable with the communal nature of literally everything the Mando’ade did, when they could.

Streng just crossed his arms across his chest, still grinning. “Ah, we all need to eat, _alor_ , and everyone will want to see you are alive and well. Whether or not you have something you think worth mentioning during our meal is up to your discretion, of course.”

At that, Maul could only roll his eyes. “Of course.”

\--*--

Maul at least had time to shower and change—and be dragged along by Streng to examine the compound’s new training grounds, installed during his absence and admittedly fairly impressive—before he was expected at the Royal Palace. He arrived a few minutes early, more out of curiosity than the spirit of civility; Kryze had not bothered formally meeting with him since her first few weeks as Mand’alor. For her to do so now was peculiar timing.

He was quickly led to a side dining chamber, in which Kryze sat alone, absent even the usual servants waiting in alcoves. There actually was food, but it was a pretext and they both knew it; it sat ignored and cooling on the table as Maul seated himself opposite Kryze, threading his fingers together as he looked patiently in her direction.

Being the one to break the silence was an admission of weakness, but apparently not one Kryze cared about at the moment. “You were on the Imperial Star Destroyer _Basilisk_ yesterday.”

Maul raised an eyebrow, somewhat mockingly. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

“I keep tabs on everyone,” Kryze retorted, “But especially you. What were you doing there?”

Inadvertently, Maul felt himself snarl; Kryze had always been better at getting under his skin than he was at getting under hers. “I do not think that any of your business, Mand’alor. The goings on of Manda'yaim may concern you, but what I do _off_ it is-”

“Still my concern.” Kryze stared at him, her mouth in a hard line. “Maul. You are not Mando’ad.”

Maul snorted, deciding to forgive Kryze her trespass. She was obviously rattled, and that was interesting in of itself. “Obviously.”

Kryze shook her head, looking grim. “ _Not_ obviously. You know it; I know it; all of Manda'yaim knows it. But to _aruetiise_ , you not only look Mando’ad, you look like a _leader_ of Mando’ade. More than one _ori'ramikad akaata al'verde_ names you _alor_ ; do not think people do not hear this. Therefore, whatever you do, on Manda'yaim or off, reflects on us all.

“Normally, I would not take notice. The Empire is our biggest employer; Mando’ad presence on an Imperial vessel should be unremarkable. But not when that presence is you.”

The words hung in the air, dangerous with potential; Kryze knew better than most his hatred for the Emperor, and how he’d reacted in the past when someone dared to bring it up.

Still, she had at least attempted to be tactful, which was more than he had expected from her, and the knowledge that he would soon be entirely out of Sidious’s sphere of influence cooled his temper, if only slightly. “Remain unconcerned; I was invited, and the agreement reached aboard that vessel will do nothing to hurt Manda'yaim’s standing with the Empire.”

Kryze blinked, though her surprise was quickly subsumed by suspicion. “ _Haat_? ”

Maul nearly laughed. “Since when have you and I ever been honest with each other? But yes, in this case. In fact, you should be pleased; with any luck, you shall never have to deal with me again.”

There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other, then Maul deliberately looked away, affecting boredom. “Will that be all? Mand’alor.”

There was a brief pause. “For now,” Kryze allowed. She watched him wordlessly as he rose and headed out the door, the studied weight of her gaze felt even when he could not see it.

\--*--

“ _Haili cetare!_ ” was the shout that echoed through the karyai every time someone new walked through the door. Urvok’s squad was the last to arrive at around twenty-two hundred, having come straight from the spaceport and still clad in their armor, but they were waved in and handed food before even being given the chance to wash off the dirt; Mando’ade had a very strict set of priorities that placed eating just below killing someone actively trying to murder you.

By then, the karyai was incredibly crowded, to the point that nearly half of the battalion had spilled out into the training grounds for lack of room elsewhere. Maul, for his part, sat in the corner that gave him the best view of the karyai’s two entrances, and he had been afforded what was, for a Mando’ad celebration, generous space; no one was actively touching him except when they were handing him food.

He normally would have felt claustrophobic under such conditions, but Mando’ad architecture favored high ceilings, and he had worked with this battalion enough for its warriors to recognize how little he appreciated their attempts at camaraderie. Besides the occasional shouted greeting when someone new noticed he was present and the aforementioned offerings of food, no one tried to impose upon him.

Streng came the closest to doing so, as usual; he was holding court just two meters to Maul’s right, and most of his stories seemed to be revolving around jobs that Maul specifically had been present for. Still, it was not until Urvok’s squad had already worked their way through several plates of gihaal that Streng actually turned to Maul and said, not quite pointedly, “Everyone’s here now, _alor_.”

“I am not about to make a speech, Streng,” Maul growled, leaning his head back against the wall. The constant noise was starting to give him a headache.

Streng just grinned, as usual. “Well, just tell me then. I’ll make sure everyone knows before you leave tomorrow.”

Maul considered ignoring him, before shaking himself; why was he even here, if not for this? “There is a threat beyond the Outer Rim,” he began, and suddenly the karyai went absolutely, deathly quiet.

Maul stopped, staring at Streng. Streng stared back calmly. Expectant. If he noticed the silence, he gave no sign of it, but Maul could sense his bone-deep satisfaction. The staring continued, but so did the silence, and so Maul made a mental note to break Streng’s arm at some future point for his insolence and continued on, refusing to raise his voice or acknowledge the fact that everyone was looking at him. “Beyond, perhaps, even the Unknown Regions and Wild Space. It is an assimilator of worlds, gaining strength from those it conquers. An utterly alien power that seeks the subjugation of all sentient beings, twisting their bodies and minds to suit its own purposes. It has the means to do so; it has already begun.

“The Emperor knows of its existence. However, until it reaches the Core Worlds, he considers it an enemy beneath his notice. I have been approached by a man with ties to the Unknown Regions, who wishes to stop this enemy before it acquires a foothold in our galaxy. He has gained the Emperor’s support, but it is paltry in light of the magnitude of the threat.

“So he came to me. And I agreed that this force could be allowed to go no further.”

Whatever else he had to say was abruptly cut off by Streng, who shot to his feet and punched his fist into the air. “You hear that, Mandos? We are going to war!”

If Maul had thought he had a headache before, the cheer that rang out at Streng’s words did nothing to improve it. “ _Oya! Oya! Oya!_ ”

\--*--

“I am not actually sure I can afford to hire five thousand Mandalorian supercommandos for a several year contract,” Thrawn admitted two days later.

“They’ll take the standard Imperial special forces rate,” Maul said sourly, staring out the viewport. “They consider this a holy war; they give discounts for those.”

Thrawn blinked, actually surprised. “And their leader is fine with this?”

“Kryze is pleased,” said Maul, still sourly. “She’s getting rid of her most troublesome battalions while also being able to point to this in future dealings with the Empire as a show of Mandalore’s loyalty. She actually considered sending more, but everyone who would even consider being away from Mandalore for years at a time has already volunteered.”

Thrawn sipped his wine, thoughtful. “Well, Lord Maul, I cannot say I expected our alliance to pay off so quickly, but… neither can I say I am displeased. There are no greater warriors in the galaxy than the Mandalorians, after all.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to Streng,” said Maul, planning on doing nothing of the sort. The battalion commander was still irritatingly cheerful, considering he was currently walking around with his arm in a cast. Maul was not about to make him even happier with himself.

Thrawn just smiled over his wine, obviously hearing the insincerity in Maul’s voice. “I was more trying to compliment _you_ , actually.” His free hand toyed idly with the cuff of Maul’s tunic, his thumb occasionally brushing faintly against the inside of Maul’s wrist. “To command such devotion without even trying is… impressive.”

Maul said nothing in reply, but neither did he pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not mean to do world building, I swear. Streng is technically not an original character, if only because I am distinctly picturing him as the Mandalorian in red and black spiked armor helping to rescue Maul from Dathomir in the the _Son of Dathomir_ comic (shown in the last panel [here](http://ajax-daughter-of-telamon.tumblr.com/post/146986448652/maul-might-not-have-much-going-for-him-by-the-end#notes)).
> 
> Anyway, most of the Mando'a is translated via hover text, if you are curious about what exactly is being said. God am I never dealing with that again, formatting was a pain.
> 
> Lastly, captainmazzic drew an _gorgeous_ fanart of _At the Edge of Our Hope_ [here](http://captainmazzic.tumblr.com/post/147980926255/his-tongue-tasted-dry-clumsy-in-his-mouth-his) that all of you should immediately go and look at.


End file.
